


Till The End Of The Line

by pietromavximoff



Category: Captain America, Marvel, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: M/M, THREE DAYS FUCKIGN, civil war is so soon i can tasTE IT, honestly im a mess, so im ignoring all canon and this is fluff and (mostly) good things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:06:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pietromavximoff/pseuds/pietromavximoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things Bucky remembers when all he wants to do is forget</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till The End Of The Line

You remember when you were young, and you watched the boy with the tiny fists try to fight someone much bigger than him, and you remember your head getting dizzy even before you took the punch that was meant for him.  
You remember when you were a bit older, and you heard him say your name like he was making a wish, and you knew that if there was something you had to listen to for the rest of your life, that would be it.  
You remember when he would come home and you’d see purple and blue bruises stamped over his body, and you’d sit there and shake with anger when he wasn’t looking.  
You remember when you were older than that, and you watched the curve of his lips as he spoke, and you remember wanting to burn your mind because you couldn’t stop thinking about kissing them for the rest of the day.  
You remember when he came home late one night, and he jumped into bed next to you, because it was the middle of winter, and that’s what you did, and you said no a little too quickly when he asked if you were both too old to share beds.  
You remember watching with a painful awareness as he tried time and time again to risk his life for his country, and you remember drinking yourself sick the night before you left, even though you knew the empty bottles couldn’t clean your mind of the thought of him dead.  
You remember seeing him as you lay half-conscious on that cold metal table, and you remember a second of relief before he touched you and said your name, and he was different, and you were different, but it still felt the same.  
You remember dark nights alone in his tent, limbs tangled, the feeling of the angle of his jawline against your collarbone and wondering if you’d be permanently scared from all the times it’s rested there.  
You remember the night before it happened, holding him close as he held you just as tight, promising in between hurried kisses and shaking hands that if anything were to happen, you’d find each other again.  
You remember his face, the last thing you saw, heartbroken and shocked and terrified as you fell, and you wonder before you hit the cold ground if your face is the last thing he’ll see.  
You don’t remember a lot after that. After that, memories become blurry but the first time you see his face and hear that name fall off his lips like you had broken his heart in a hundred different ways in that single moment, you question if your memories are real. You trust him, even though he hasn’t said anything you know is true.  
You remember feeling the most scared you’d ever felt in your life every time he got close. You ran from him, you ran from the memories, you ran from yourself. You were trying to find a home, but you didn’t realize you’d always had one in him. You stopped running.  
You remember healing, slowly, after all the people that had tried to tear the two of you apart had gone. You know it’s painful for him to talk about, so you don’t. Instead, you make stupid faces when he’s sad and breakfast when he’s too tired to get up. Maybe this time, you can pull him out of the darkness like he always did with you.  
You remember reaching for his hand every time you were scared that the memories that had come back weren’t real, and you remember him squeezing you tightly to let you know that they were real and so was he, and so were you.  
You remember wondering what you’d do if something happened to him. You’d meet again in another lifetime, in another world, as different people with different names who could be married or two strangers passing on a busy street with a fleeting gaze. You think that that would be enough, if all that came out of this life was a fleeting gaze in the next, it would be enough.   
And slowly, you remember the rest. The life you had before with him. And you remember your promise all those years ago in a small tent in the middle of the night when you were breathless with the taste of each other. And you found each other again.


End file.
